


would it be a sin if i can't help falling in love with you?

by pandizzy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Female Jon Snow, Half-Sibling Incest, King Rhaegar Targaryen, POV Outsider, POV Rhaegar Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen A+ Parenting, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandizzy/pseuds/pandizzy
Summary: Six and ten years before, Visenya Targaryen rode north to live a safe life away from dornish eyes and the girl who returned in her place was called Joanna Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Aegon VI Targaryen
Comments: 41
Kudos: 268





	would it be a sin if i can't help falling in love with you?

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the song i was listening when i filled out the form to post this story lol
> 
> since ari was taking her time to write me a aegon x jon story, i decided to do it myself.
> 
> sorry ari i love you.

“Shall we close this meeting, then?”

Rhaegar looks at the members of his small council. Jon Connington, his Hand of the King; Tywin Lannister, Master of Coin; Pycelle, the Grand Maester; Varys, Master of Whisperers; Paxter Redwyne, Master of Ships; Randyll Tarly, his Master of Laws; Ser Gerold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Abled men he trusts to rule his kingdoms, men he _chose_ to rule his kingdoms.

Some nod, murmuring their agreements, but Varys, a creature his father had brought from the Free Cities, stays quiet. He places his soft white hands over his belly and prepares to speak. 

“I have a matter that needs to be brought to attention, my lords,” he says, “Something important.”

Rhaegar turns to him, prepared to take his words with a careful eye. He didn’t trust him, he couldn’t trust anyone that his father trusted, but he needed Varys, especially after the war. The Spider is a necessary thing to keep the peace, him and his little birds.

Jon Connington adjusts in his seat. When it comes to Varys of Lys, his pieces of information could lead to a military conflict, or a simple court gossip, nothing a king should lose nights of sleep over.

“Go on,” Rhaegar says, “Tell me.”

Varys looks at Tywin Lannister, whose face remains impassible and unreadable. His quick eyes fleet to Pycelle and Paxter Redwyne, before landing on Randyll Tarly. 

“Forgive me, my lords of the council, but I fear my news must be heard by the King alone,” he says. His voice is laced with an apologetic tone, something kin to regret, but Rhaegar could see the poison underneath, the threat, “It is a family matter.”

A family matter. Rhaegar thinks about his wife, Queen Elia, and their children, Rhaenys and Aegon. Rhaenys had been promised to Willas Tyrell of the Reach and would be marrying him in the coming moon, while Aegon is the heir every father would want: honorable, gentle, brave. The Prince of Dragonstone doesn’t shy away from his duty.

And then there’s his other child. A bastard daughter, although he’d be quick to say otherwise. Visenya Targaryen, his youngest child. He still remembers the day he met her, almost a full moon after her birth. Once his throne was secure, as well as the safety of his family, Rhaegar rode to Dorne to take Lyanna and their child to King’s Landing. The three knights of the Kingsguard he’d employed were still there, guarding their charge, but Lyanna was dead and a wetnurse called Wylla took care of her daughter, a small little thing with red limbs and dark brown hair.

Elia’s rage when Visenya was brought to court was an ugly thing. She was from Dorne, yes, where bastards weren’t despised, but the girl was a symbol of her year under Aerys’ eyes, how much she suffered and feared. To appease his wife and her family, Rhaegar decided to send the little princess to her mother’s family, in the condition that she would return home once she came of age. He didn’t know then how much he would come to regret this decision.

Six and ten years before, Visenya Targaryen rode north to live a safe life away from dornish eyes and the girl who returned in her place was called Joanna Snow.

Joanna had been at court for little over three moons and she’s a stranger to Rhaegar, not his darling daughter who could only stop crying when he held her. Fierce, proud, much like her own mother had been. She looked like Lyanna did at that age and maybe that was why Ned Stark took great care to make her as little Targaryen as possible.

Her unhappiness at court was a clear thing, too. Rhaenys often asked him to send her back home, to her true home, so her sister would be less sad. “You’re being cruel,” his firstborn would say, “Can’t you see that her place isn’t here?”

Rhaegar looks at Varys and then at his small council. They are all looking between the two of them as if waiting for an answer. When he turns to Jon, his Hand of the King looks calm, as if saying that whatever Rhaegar decides, he shall follow.

"Leave us," he says with his kingly voice and the men rise up, slowly emptying out the small council chambers. Tywin Lannister is the last to stand, but, like the others, he leaves as well. "Not you, Jon."

Jon sits back at his seat, by the right side of Rhaegar. Once he is sure that no one is near enough to listen in, the King turns to the Spider, “Tell me.”

Varys smiles, softly. His eyes are apologetic and full of pain as if this could make the anxiety in Rhaegar’s chest lessen and the weight on his shoulder to be lifted off.

“I’m afraid it concerns your son and daughter, my King,” he says, “My little birds have caught them in compromising situations.” Rhaegar thinks about Rhaenys, his eldest child, his _favorite_ child. Rhaenys is clever and cheeky. She knows how important her match with the heir to Highgarden is to their kingdom, but Rhaegar’s grandmother knew it too and she still secretly married his grandfather and her brother. And Aegon… they had yet to find a wife for him, but Elia was already studying potential candidates, drawing names and family lines, from the stony shores of Driftmark to the fertile lands of the river. Would they ruin everything by falling in love? Varys, oblivious to Rhaegar’s musings, tilts his bald head slightly.

“Are you sure?” he asks, uncertain. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he has to if he wants to put a stop to it.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Varys says, “I have seen it myself. Prince Aegon entering Lady Joanna’s chambers at night and leaving hours later, with his clothes rumpled.”

His heart stops and his mind goes into chaos. Rhaegar opens and closes his mouth, once and then twice more. He hardly believes his ears and yet, Varys spoke the truth. He said Lady Joanna, but he might as well have said Princess Visenya, for they meant the same girl.

“Joanna?” Rhaegar repeats, “Aegon and Joanna are lovers?”

Varys nods, “I’m afraid so, my king.”

Jon Connington, who never had any love for the girl whose mother made Rhaegar start a war, scoffs. “We should send the girl North, Your Grace. Back to that cold wilderness where she belongs.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouty child, “I warned you that bringing her here would only lead to disgrace… and now she is the Crown Prince’s mistress.”

Rhaegar thinks about Visenya, about _Joanna_ . She was a small child, smaller than Aegon and Rhaenys had been, even a month after her birth. She cried all the time, be it for teat or for kisses, and Wylla would kiss her soft head, singing dornish songs for her charge. His mother, the only person in King’s Landing to love Visenya as he did, used to say that the girl missed her mother, that a child knows when they are alone in the world. Rhaegar would reply that his daughter wasn’t alone, that she had him, but that wasn’t true. He was far too busy trying to remedy the kingdoms to pay attention to her and she was lonely, especially once his mother died trying to bring his sister into the world. _Did Dany ever cry like Visenya?_

He sent her away as a small child because the court couldn’t look at her and not think about the war, because _he_ couldn’t look at her and not think about Lyanna Stark. He sent her away and tried not to hate himself for it.

“Careful, Lord Connington,” Rhaegar says and Jon closes his mouth, unused to such coldness from his silver king, “That’s my daughter you are talking about.” He looks at Varys, “I will talk to them before I do anything drastic. I’m still their father.”

Varys nods and Jon Connington frowns.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from a wise king such as yourself, Your Grace,” the Spider says.

* * *

He finds Visenya at the gardens, the only place where his daughter truly feels happy, according to Varys’ early reports. She is turned to a tall statue made of marble, but her head is down and she looks at her feet. Rhaegar doesn’t know why. He had come here himself, far inside the Red Keep’s gardens, as a young boy, to look at the three statues, placed around a marbled crown in the middle. The pierce of art is as old as the Red Keep, but well kept, and portrays their foremother, Rhaenys Targaryen, a queen of Aegon Targaryen. Aegon and Visenya were not far away, between bushes of berries and roses, standing in a circle so that all three would be the same distance from the crown in the middle. 

He had decided to talk to Joanna first. She must see how this _liaison_ with Aegon wouldn’t be good for her. It was almost expected for a prince to have affairs in his youth, to know how to produce children with his trueborn wife, but a princess… If his daughter wanted a good and highborn husband, she had to stop this. And soon. If Varys was being honest, then they were sloppy and not careful with who might see. The little birds were nothing to worry, but soon, one of Elia’s ladies might see, or a knight from his lords’ personal guards and then, Rhaegar wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect his children.

 _I will promise her that no one will know. I’ll have Varys silence any talk that may arise, I’ll have him name new girls, or start whispers about Aegon not being fond of his sister. If she stops this now, no one will have to know,_ he thinks, looking at her, _I will be by her side when she tells Aegon. If she cries afterward, I will hold her and promise that everything will be alright._ He wouldn’t be as merciful to his son, he knows, and that may be for the best. Aegon would be sent to Dragonstone and he’d tell the court that his son needed to know how to rule, but in truth, it would be a castigation. Aegon was older and had to be wiser if he wanted to be King. He’d be punished for taking advantage of his little sister, and Rhaegar would do it accordingly. Elia would rage, yes, but it was high time that he put Visenya first.

His daughter is dressed finely, but simply. When she had come to court for the first time, she was dressed like a northerner, with fur sleeves and a tight braid, but Visenya has slowly come around to the southern fashion. She is wearing a night-blue dress, with tight sleeves and flowy skirts. Her hair is down, full and curly down her back, and she has a string of pearls around her head, almost like a crown, although plainer, and simpler. Rhaegar knows why. The King’s bastard, as she is often called, is forced by her southern maids to dress like a Princess.

 _Or is she dressing herself? I thought she was finally accepting her place here, but she could just be trying to impress Aegon._ Rhaegar asks himself, stepping forward. Lyanna would never dress for a man, be he a prince or not, but this is not Lyanna. This is Visenya or Joanna, and she was a stranger to him. He would send her gifts, during her time in Winterfell. Dolls and jewelry, things he thought a young girl would like, and yet, whenever Lord Stark sent his monthly reports on her health and studies, he never once said if she liked the presents and Rhaegar never thought about asking him. Did she even like it?

He remembers a doll, a special doll, made by the finest dollmaker in King’s Landing for Visenya’s eighth nameday. The toy had brown hair and a stitched on smile, with gray thread for her eyes. Rhaegar remembers being bold that day by deciding to wrap the gift himself with a fine red fabric. He took a piece of parchment and his quill, carefully writing _To Visenya, from her papa that misses her very much._ He placed the small note inside the doll’s gray dress, between her stuffed chest and the small garment. If Joanna played with the toy, if she tried to take off the clothes and change it, like Rhaenys would do as a child, then she’d see the note.

With how cold she was to him, how _formal,_ she probably never saw the note. Or the doll. Did she even know how much he loved her? Eddard Stark had five children and a caring wife. In Winterfell, she had a home and a family. The Warden of the North thought that Visenya had no need for a father, not when he was there. That’s why he changed her name, why he made her a Stark. Gods, she even had a direwolf living in Winterfell.

He steps forward once more, intent on announcing himself when there is a rustle on the bushes near the Conqueror’s statue. A man, tall and thin, steps out, with a sly smile. He is dressed in black and red, Targaryen colors, and his silver hair falls on his shoulders like a silk curtain. His eyes are Martell black and his face is familiar, as familiar as one can get when watching a child grow. The man is Rhaegar's son and heir, Prince Aegon Targaryen.

Joanna looks up when he appears and she doesn’t look shocked, or even startled by him there. They had planned a meeting, Rhaegar realizes. She was quiet because she was waiting for him. 

The King steps back, hiding in the bushes. If he confronts them like this, together, then the two would be a united front. He’d simply wait for Aegon to leave before he resumes his plannings. Better yet, if he sees them being _too_ familiar with each other, then Visenya wouldn’t be able to refute his words. And he’d get the proof he needs.

Aegon is smiling as he walks to his sister. Wide and unpracticed, a _real_ smile, nothing like Rhaegar has ever seen. He is much taller than Joanna, almost a foot and a half, and he has to bend down to press his lips against hers.

His blood boils at the sight of his two youngest children kissing. It lasts only for a second, before his daughter pulls away, looking around. Rhaegar tries to make himself smaller, and less visible.

Aegon sighs. His frustration is visible and he steps back.

“Anyone can see,” Visenya whispers. Her voice is low, but not low enough. She looks at Aegon with sad gray eyes, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. He’s not angry at her, Rhaegar notes. He’s not even angry. The Prince looks at his younger sister with adoration and smiles. Aegon takes after his Targaryen father, with pale skin and silver hair, but he has never looked more like his uncle Oberyn than when he smiles like that. A dangerous, _hungry_ smile that says, You can’t stop me. I will do whatever I want.

“Let them see,” he murmurs. Unlike his sister, he doesn’t take care to keep his voice low, “Our forefathers married their sisters. Why should we be any different?”

Joanna blushes. “Because Father said so,” she says, “Yesterday, Mors Manwoody said he'd wear my favor during the tourney of Rhaenys' wedding, and that he would crown me if he won." She shrugs, "He'd be a good match. My uncle said he's an honorable man."

Her face softens when she says the worlds _my uncle_ and Rhaegar knows that she looks up to him, cares about his opinions. If she thinks about what Lord Stark might think when considering a husband, then she is more lost to him than Rhaegar originally thought.

Aegon shakes when he hears Visenya talk. He widens his eyes and closes his fist, blood rushing to his head. Rhaegar almost steps forward, ready to stop his son from doing anything stupid, but, as quickly as it came, Aegon’s rage spills away, and he takes a deep breath, calming down.

“I will duel him for you if it comes to that,” he murmurs and steps forward, leaning his forehead against hers. Joanna closes her eyes, sighing, and wraps her arms around his neck. If Rhaegar didn’t know any better, he might be glad to see this, thinking his children were merely embracing. He’d be happy to see them so close. But he does know any better and the sight is like poison on his tongue, “I will kill anyone who tries to separate us.”

Visenya frowns and her expression is pained, almost sad.

“You shouldn’t say this,” she murmurs, “The gardens have ears.”

“So what?” Aegon steps back, with his sister’s arms still around his neck. He looks at Visenya as if she is a stranger, “Why are you scared? This is all your doing.” He grins, dark and sickly, “Or don’t you remember? When you danced with me at Rhaenys’ nameday feast. You were so beautiful that day, with your purple dress. I thought I was a green boy again, hardening in my pants. And then you pulled me to the corridor and kissed me so sweetly.”

Rhaegar hesitates. He remembers that day clearly. Rhaenys’ nineteenth nameday, when her betrothal to Willas Tyrell was announced, and Visenya was presented to the court as a formal member of House Targaryen. Elia was wearing a red dress that took weeks to make, while Rhaenys’ was pink, but Visenya wore a lavender gown that brought out the violet in her eyes. She was beautiful, he remembers. He felt like everything would go well that day, that they’d finally be a family, but it wouldn’t take long for him to discover how wrong he was.

Rhaegar tries to remember when Aegon and Visenya disappeared, when they _kissed_ , but his memory comes blank. His eyes were only at Rhaenys that day, and the Tyrell delegation. He ought to be paying attention to them, but how could he? They had danced twice, not enough to be considered odd, or beyond what a brother might do to a sister, and Visenya danced with others before and after, as did Aegon.

 _They took good care not to be seen_ , he realizes, feeling like a fool. How could he rule his kingdoms if he didn’t even know what was happening under his nose?

And he thought it was Aegon. He _wanted_ to believe it was Aegon, but if his son was being honest, and he must have for he thought there was no one listening, then Visenya made the first move. Visenya, his sweet child, the child he had sent away so he could forget about his indiscretions, was the one who first desired her brother.

_She is truly a stranger to me._

“It’s not fair,” she murmurs and her gray eyes start to fill with tears, threatening to spill over her long face, “Not fair.”

Aegon, at the sight of his lady’s sadness, hesitates, and then wraps his arms around her, holding her close. He has his eyes wide and mouth open, but he still comforts her as best as he can.

“What is it, my love?” he asks, gently.

Joanna tries to push him away, feet scrambling on the stony ground, but Aegon doesn’t let her. He only tightens the hold he has on her, even when she slaps his chest in an attempt to get away.

When she gives up, she sighs, allowing herself to be held, and sobs, her shoulders shaking.

“You can do whatever you want,” Visenya says, “You are the silver prince, son of the beloved Queen Elia, heir to all Seven Kingdoms, and I am the King’s bastard. They call my mother a wolf slut, who spread her legs in an attempt to make herself queen and only got a war in response.” Rhaegar never heard those words. He knew Lyanna was not loved by anyone south of the Neck, least of all at court, where dornish lords and ladies had flocked to be of assistance to Elia, but he never imagined _this,_ “What will they say about this? They’ll say I seduced you like my mother did to Father. They’ll curse my name and spit whenever I pass. And my uncle… _oh_ , when he hears about this, he’ll be so ashamed!” Visenya puts her face on her hands and Rhaegar can hear her crying and her shoulders are shaking. Aegon looks around in an unfamiliar stance of uncertainty, before hugging her even closer, kissing her brown-haired head. Her next words come out muffled, but Rhaegar can hear them clearly, “I should have stayed in the North. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, no,” Aegon whispers, shushing her, “Visenya, you belong here. This is your home.”

Visenya raises her head and looks at Aegon. Rhaegar doesn’t think he has ever seen her this way, so _unbound._ With him, she is usually cold, and formal, never forgetting her manners or to keep her face unreadable. He longed to see a shred of emotion from her, anything to show that she trusted him enough to be weak near him, but she isn’t crying because he’s near. She’s crying, allowing her emotions to spill over and come to the surface, because of Aegon. Because she trusts her brother, because she loves him. She is an ugly crier, he can see. Her lower lip is trembling and snot mixes with her tears. But that hardly matters. 

“My place is at Winterfell,” she murmurs, “With my family. I miss them so much. Do you know what my cousin Brandon said to me when I said my goodbyes? He said I could marry him, secretly, then I wouldn’t have to leave, because wives need to stay with their husbands and he wanted me to stay with him. Bran is only nine!”

Unlike with Mors Manwoody, Aegon doesn’t rage at the possibility of Joanna marrying her cousin Brandon, whom everyone from the North claims to be a sweet and intelligent boy. Perhaps, because Brandon Stark is not a threat, not really.

“Your place is here,” Aegon says and presses his lips against hers. The kiss is sweet, Rhaegar can see it, without a hint of desire underneath. Not the kiss of someone who is in it just for pleasure, but from someone who truly loves the other, “With me. I will not let anyone come between us. Even the Father Above would tremble if he tried to take you from my arms.”

Joanna chuckles, “You’d battle a god for me?” she asks, softly, and her voice is sweet and _happy._

She smiles and kisses Aegon, wrapping her arms around his neck once again. This kiss starts just as sweet as the other one, perhaps even sweeter, with fewer walls between them, but Visenya bites Aegon’s lower lip, dragging her nails across the back of his neck, and something changes between them. He places a hand on her rump, caressing her bottom and pulling her even closer, as if this could be possible.

When they pull apart, Joanna’s tears have dried out.

“Come to my rooms tonight,” she whispers and her words hang in the air between them. Visenya has not said it exactly what she wants, but the meaning is clear, both for Aegon and for Rhaegar.

He almost wishes Aegon would refuse. Varys said he visited her chambers and stayed there for hours, leaving with his clothes askew, but it could mean nothing. A kiss is one thing, but fucking is the complete opposite.

But Rhaegar knows his son in a way he doesn’t know his daughter and Aegon grins.

“Of course,” he says, before kissing her one more time. He takes his time in this one, sliding a hand up to her hair and wrapping a brown curl around his finger. Joanna sighs against his lips, her entire body relaxing, and when they separated, her expression is full of bliss, the likes of which Rhaegar has never seen before, “I’ll be there.”

Aegon leaves then, as if kissing thrice in the open air of the gardens wasn’t suspicious enough, and Joanna stands alone, as she did before, but, this time, his daughter is smiling, biting her lower lip. She looks so happy, in a way that Rhaegar has never seen before, and it pains him to see it and know that he must drive them apart. _Why couldn't it be anyone else?_ he wants to ask. Rhaegar wants to run to her and shake her, make her see reason, _Why couldn't you have fallen in love with anyone other than your brother? I could've made it happen, I could've married you to anyone other than him. Why, my child, why?_

Rhaegar would've done anything to make his daughter happy, to make her smile at him with honesty and love. If it were anyone, even a hedge knight, he would have arranged a match. He would have given the man titles and lands, if necessary, something to make him worthy of a Princess of the Blood, but with Aegon... How can he go and tell her that it shall not come true? That they will never be together again? What kind of father would he be if he didn't allow it, just to continue seeing this smile on her face?

He is a father and he is a king and the duties of his two roles have overlapped, pulling him in two different directions. If he allows it to happen, if he allows them to be like his grandfather and grandmother, then the Great Houses would be unhappy, but if he pulls them apart, his children will hate him forever. To be a good father, he must be a terrible king and vice-versa. How can he choose which is more important to him: his family or his realm?

Jon Connington would say his realm. If it were him in his place, he'd have sent Joanna to the North already, without hesitation. He'd have done it as soon as he heard Varys' reports, but Rhaegar wanted to come here, to talk to them, and for what? He hoped it was all a folly, that Aegon was taking advantage of Visenya because the other possibility was impossible to bear. To know that your children are in love and you must break their hearts for the wellness of others is a father's most difficult task.

 _Ever since she came here,_ he thinks, looking at the girl, his little girl, the only living piece of Lyanna Stark, _I have worked hard to make her trust me. And I failed. Even before that, back in Winterfell, I'd send her letters and gifts, only for her to not respond to me, and why should she? I was a stranger to her, the father who sent her away. The father who didn't love her enough._

But he does. He loves her. He is her father and nothing can change that. That is why he must do this.

Rhaegar waits a few minutes before stepping forward and saying, “Visenya?”


End file.
